Bright Eyes

I just. Want to thank everyone who nominated me for things. I'm a bit, ah, bad at this sort of thing. Because I'm flustered and all that. But. Thank you. Every nomination put a smile on my face.

Now, to copy Dero, and because I will forget otherwise, ( here they are ).

This goes for miseardae as well. I'm sure the two of them will have plenty of comments.

You are The Hermit

Prudence, Caution, Deliberation.

The Hermit points to all things hidden, such as knowledge and inspiration,hidden enemies. The illumination is from within, and retirement from participation in current events.

The Hermit is a card of introspection, analysis and, well, virginity. You do not desire to socialize; the card indicates, instead, a desire for peace and solitude. You prefer to take the time to think, organize, ruminate, take stock. There may be feelings of frustration and discontent but these feelings eventually lead to enlightenment, illumination, clarity.

The Hermit represents a wise, inspirational person, friend, teacher, therapist. This a person who can shine a light on things that were previously mysterious and confusing.

What Tarot Card are You?
Take the Test to Find Out.

Your eyes meet over the console, and you find yourself contemplating blue; that of the ocean of evening and dawn, beneath the moon and sun.

You catch yourself wondering what it must be like, living in darkness, before you remember that you know.

You wonder then if he remembers the radiance of the sun.

You'll show him if it kills you both.


You're working together on a primitive engine, because you insisted on authenticity.

Your hands brush as they dance over coils and valves, and you share a smile.

You once cherished these moments, silently, secretly; these reprieves from murderous adversity. You knew they would never last, that your ancient companionship would come to an end.

You fear this still, every day.


He is there when you awake, sweating and trembling, and his presence is a comfort. It is so very easy to press against him, to savour his silent embrace.

Trying to forget the blood staining your dreams, the screams still echoing in your ears.

Trying to forget that he would relish it all.

You never will, of course.


You're resting together on grass that never dies, gazing at stars you never knew.

It is something that you have always shared and always will; the yearning for the freedom of the cosmos.

This is not who you are, who you should be, and you both know it.

Your hands clasp, rigid and bruising, a silent expression of wistful fury.


Your swords meet, gleaming rapiers dripping blood, and you are still.

You recognise the hunger in his eyes, for destruction and domination, carnage and chaos. .
You understand it more than you ever wanted to. You can feel it slipping through your barriers, corroding your control.

This will never be enough to satisfy, or to punish, but you fight on.


You argue often, of course. You're both stubborn, and arrogant, and often bored. Bickering, debating, fighting, they're all endlessly familiar.

One of your retorts cuts deep, and another time you may have felt pleased; now, you feel only remorse, intense enough that he feels it too.

It's one of the very few times he can, and it's almost worth it.


You reminisce rarely. So many memories are too tainted, or too painful, or too shrouded to share. Too many names you can't bear to speak.

Yet now you laugh with him about other prisons, planets and compounds and societies, and for a few moments, you are young again.

For a few moments, you can forget the death that always follows.


This is not a dance of violence or intellect, of swords or words; it is a simple waltz, quiet and peaceful, around an empty room.

Your steps are impeccable timed, carelessly graceful - until you slip, and only his grip keeps you steady.

He chuckles against your throat, a low, soft sound, fond and amused, familiar.

It makes you shiver.


Semtra lands on his feet, mewling indignantly as the Master continues his work; the Doctor scoops him up with a smile

It would be easy to throw the small cat against a wall, to snap his neck, to strike in just the right place.

He never has.

It's quite absurd, the pride that warms your chest, but there it remains.


You've always enjoyed chess, even in one dimension, especially against him.

You win as often as you lose, but you're confident this time, as the game nears its inevitable end.

The Master is utterly focused, silently smug, as brilliant and ruthless as he's ever been, both beautiful and horrifying.

Many would despair.

When your pawn takes his king, you smile.

Community: Mind the Muse
Verse: Paradisa

What would you call 60 word stories? 'Not-quite-quarter-drabbles' doesn't have much of a ring to it.

He thinks he's going to die again.

He's not sure why, precisely, other than the obvious; rushing into a town being crushed by a demon with naught but a sword and some hope can very well end that way.

It's not that he plans to go looking for Vergil; he becomes very quiet as soon as he leaves the castle, his steps soft and swift, senses tuned to any intrusion. No, he just wants to help; to guide people from the wreckage.

The foreboding doesn't sway him from this goal in the least, even when he begins to see the devastation for himself – no, especially then.

He doesn't want to die, not like he did when he first arrived, but nor is he afraid to.

He's found a purpose, something to return to, and he probably will; it's what sustained him for so long, after all.

He's bonded with people, more than he ever expected to again, and regained a part of himself he thought long lost.

He's healed – not entirely, no, never entirely, but he's so much more than he was in the beginning, at the end, and even if he never returns it will have been worth it.

He's made a difference.

His TARDIS is secure. Those in his makeshift family are safe within, or know her as a sanctuary. That's all he wants; for the people he loves to be safe, or as safe as they can be, and to help those strangers he can.

He doesn't want to leave the Master.

They spoke, once, of what torment it would be to lose each other now; he doesn't want to put Koschei through that, not again, not now, who knows how he'll react, how bad it will be, but the Doctor knows, oh, he knows…

A scream pierces the air, cleaving his thoughts, and he knows he won't turn back.

Community: Mind the Muse
Verse: Paradisa
Word Count: 313

The room was becoming very familiar; he felt he could make his way there with his eyes closed, and the small couch felt almost like his own.

He never expected it to help very much – it was a desperate grasp at a solution, really – but it had been, a bit. To talk about it all to someone, to sort out his thoughts in words, and knowing the Master was doing the same. More or less.

His therapist was quite unflappable, and never seemed at a loss for words, until now. There was a slight, ironic smile on his lips; the Doctor raised his eyebrows.

"Problem?"

The doctor shook his head.

"Usually, by this time we'd go in depth in your history. What happened when you met each others' families…"

The Doctor snorted.

"…Your first date…"

The Doctor laughed out loud.

"…What relationships you have with your former partners."

"He is my former partner."

"Precisely. Your unique situation makes it all a bit difficult."

"You did say you liked a challenge."

The doctor chuckled faintly, and shook his head.

"I suppose we can do a variation on the theme. Have you ever been in love, before this?"

"I've loved a great deal of people – "

"Romantically, Doctor, as I'm sure you knew."

A wry smile; his voice becomes quiet, wistful.

"Yes, I've been in love. In this incarnation even, but I don't tend to act on it. There's a power imbalance, for win, and such an age gap, and of course I'd never settle down, and when they left…"

The doctor nodded.

"Can you tell me about them? The ones in this life?"

For some time, the Doctor merely gazed at him.

Then, he spoke of Nyssa, the young woman who blossomed in front of his eyes, who became his anchor and his serenity. He spoke of Turlough, the tormented exile who challenged and trusted and understood him.

Eventually he would speak of Romana, and Sarah, and Jo, and Jamie, and Barbara, and once, just once, the mother of his children.

He would speak of Lucy, a broken woman and a dear friend, who fell for him and confused him and helped him stay alive.

He would speak of Cameca, and Illeana, and Sybil, and so many others he had left behind.

Oh, yes, he had been in love. One would think, by now, that he would be better at it.

1. Who eats more?
I can't say I measure our food intakes. (Although, as he's currently a cheetah, he'll have me beat for a bit.)

2. Who said "I love you" first?
If we're confining things to Paradisa – which makes things much simpler so thank you I will – it…was him. We were talking about daisies. It surprised me too.

3. How long have you been together?
Centuries. Not like this, of course, but does that matter, really?

4. Who sings better?
Perhaps we should do a duet.

5. Who's older?
I can't remember. Not by enough to matter, anyway.

6. Who's smarter?
We're equally brilliant, and equally foolish in one aspect or another.

7. Whose temper is worse?
Oh, do you really need to ask.

8. Who does the laundry?
The TARDIS.

( This is getting a bit tedious. )

The good doctor has been sworn to secrecy on pain of agonising death ("Really, Koschei, that's hardly necessary…"), and rather laments the fact that he can't make a best-seller off this pair.

They came from the castle, two bickering aliens with centuries of history between them, and asked him to help them sort it out. (Well, the Doctor asked, while his paramour sulked and looked generally intimidating.)

He's learned a great deal about them, and about things he never would have imagined – the cultures of planets in another reality, the true power of Cair Paradisa, the history of a world so like and unlike his own – but they're not much closer to resolution. Of course, these things take time, and these patients are unique.

It is the Doctor who sits before him today, with prim posture and folded hands, looking so boyish and so careworn. He still isn't used to the dichotomy, and doubts he ever will be – much like the Master's manners and madness.

"Is there anything particular you'd like to talk to me about?" It always starts this way, and the Doctor usually shakes his head before remembering what the point of it all is. It was clear, early on, that he is not a man used to divulging his troubles.

This time, he merely closes his eyes, and says wearily, "Nothing in particular, no."

It must have been a hard week. The doctor decides, then, not to focus on the present but
the past.

"Tell me about young love."

The Doctor's eyes open, his lips quirking with grim amusement. Such an expression no longer looks out of place on his soft features.

"Hmm. Much simpler than mature love, if that's what you'd call this." He sighs, leans back, focusing on the doctor with an unnerving intensity.

"We met when we were very young, and influenced each other since, for better or worse. I confided in him more than anyone, trusted him more than anyone – argued with him more than anyone." A true smile, small and wistful, touches his lips then.

"We challenged each other, competed with each other, understood each other. We were going to change the world, and then we were going to change the universe." His laugh, soft and brief, is the echo of reluctant wisdom.

"We didn't succeed, of course. I decided I wasn't much good to anyone and ran away. Left him behind." His eyes close once more, and all levity fades with his sight. The doctor has grown used to such abrupt changes; the Master is worse.

"Well. You can see what became of that."

"You couldn't have known…"

"I could have if I'd only looked." Another laugh, this one rough and bitter.

Very quietly, the doctor asks, "Do you think it would have made a difference."

In a whisper, "Now we'll never know."

"So you had a baby."

"…Well, yes. That is – not like – it was the castle's doing. We certainly didn't try."

"But you could – your species can – "

"Yes, it's possible, and no, we wouldn't."

"Why not?"

"Give me a day and I'll provide you a list several feet long."

"What did it look like?"

"What?"

"The baby."

"…Ah. Right. Well, he...he had my eyes, I think. Dark hair. Mostly like a baby, really, they don't become very distinctive until later, though one…could tell, I think, that he was ours."

"Do you miss him?"

"…I don't think it's right, for the castle to create lives simply to snuff them out, as some sort of game."

"You didn't answer the question."

"No, I suppose not. …I haven't thought about it, really. I haven't wanted to. It was…rather nice, I suppose, in its way. Something we could be proud of, together. Something…innocent and safe."

"Do you want him back?"

"Goodness, no. I wouldn't do that to a child. Even if we weren't trapped here, it…"

"You don't think you're fit parents."

"No. No, I don't."

"You were a parent, once."

"A very long time ago, and not with the Master."

"Was Koschei there?"

"There's a difference. People change, he changed, and so did I, and it's out of the question."

"What was the child's name?"

"I think time is up, don't you?"

The Doctor only sits when their therapist has thoroughly convinced him that he's unharmed. The man might think him paranoid, but the Doctor knows he's only being reasonable. Even as he leans back into the worn leather, he watches the man keenly, even as they dispense with the pleasantries.

"As I'm sure you know, Doctor, I've agreed not to disclose the discussions you each have with me personally." He nods; if he really wanted to he could pester it out of the Master later. At the time, he'd only asked if everything was still intact.

The man taps his hand with his pencil, looking pensive. The Doctor waits; he's grown very, very good at waiting.

"It did raise a matter I'd like to discuss with you, however." Again, the Doctor nods. His own hands are folded in his lap, tightly and loosely in turns. Of course he was the one who'd suggested this, but that didn't mean he was good at it, or at all comfortable with the idea.

"What have you sacrificed for this relationship?" He stares at the doctor, for a moment, who gazes at him with a slight, wan smile that never wavers.

His first thought is that there isn't so much left of him to give, but that's delving rather deeper than he wants to, so it never escapes his lips.

"My morals." Simple, obvious, if not quite easy to say. His – their – therapies waits for him to continue, and eventually he does.

"I know what he is. I should be fighting him, not…sharing his bed. I certainly shouldn't love him – that should have stopped when I met him again, and I thought it did."

"Do you want to stop, then?" The horrified look on the Doctor's face must be enough, so the younger older man simply nods.

"How do you plan to reconcile things?" At this, the Doctor smiles, wry and pained.

"I don't think I can. I can't even punish him for murdering people, aside from being irascible."

"You did say that you've been helping them?"

"Yes, and when they ask if the murderer will ever face justice, what am I supposed to say?" He can hear the helplessness in his voice, knows the doctor can hear it to, and he hates it but he goes on.

"He's been my enemy for centuries for a reason. He hasn't – he's still – I don't call him the Master, anymore, you know that, but that's who he is. That's who I'm…" He hears something crack and stares dully at his trembling hands.

When the doctor speaks, his voice is softer – calculated, the Doctor has no doubt, and when did he become such a cynic about people? Was it before Paradisa or after?

"You don't want him to be. You want him to be Koschei."

Slowly, the Doctor looks up. His own voice is quiet, weary.

"One way or another, one of us loses who we are."

He holds her hand as she dies.

She doesn't have family, really – she was disowned years back, she never said why, and her parents never returned the calls. She worked odd jobs to put herself through university, there wasn't much time for friends.

The doctors were sympathetic; they knew him, this strange volunteer from Cair Paradisa. They let him stay with her, when he wasn't in the way.

She expected do die alone on a bed of blood and concrete, staring at the sky and remembering everything she'd wanted to do. When he came upon her, she said, she thought he was an angel.

He smiled wistfully and guided the subject towards her major – she wanted to be a doctor, and said this could count as practice.

He can remember her laugh. Soft, delicate, so unlike the steel of her eyes.

Eyes grown dim, now. His own flash with the memory of burning.

A tentative hand on his shoulder; he gazes into the face of a young man with a tired face.

"I'm sorry."

"You did all you could."

The doctor looks down, and when he meets the Doctor's eyes they echo his despair.

"They won't catch her killer, will they."

A hard, dry smile twists his lips of its own accord. The man draws his hand away.

"No." He stands, and walks from the cramped, sterile room without looking back.


Community: Mind the Muse
Verse: Paradisa
Word Count: 231

He doesn't feel remorse.

Well, that's what he likes to believe, and in many ways it's true – he'll kill without guilt, and he's been able to for centuries. That doesn't mean he has no regrets.

He did apologise to me, once – after it all almost collapsed on top of us. My fault, really, but the way he reacted – he felt sorry for it. I never told him how much that meant but I thought he knew. He must have done.

I didn't expect it this time – in his eyes I'm sure there's no need. He didn't murder anyone I'm close to, after all. Perhaps it would have soothed my anger a bit, but certainly not my own guilt.

Someone should suffer for what he did, and it may as well be me. No one here will – but that's another topic entirely. Even if there was retribution I don't know if I could…

That's another problem, putting my attachment ahead of my morals. I threatened to erase my memories of him, and if I'd gone through with it…that would be a large part of the reason. I shouldn't be this sort of man.

I shouldn't let him get away with killing innocent people. What, however, am I supposed to do? Keep him locked up somewhere for a decade or to? Kill him again? I couldn't. I can't.

I can be angry, I can be distant, I can shout and threaten and avoid. That's all I have.

…Would I forgive him? If he apologised?

No.

I forgive him for everything he does to me – not to others. It's not my place, not my right, not my inclination. I've told him as much.

All I can do, now, is help the people left behind.

They don't speak of it anymore, not where he can hear. One might think the problem has been resolved; that Walter Sullivan is safe in his gilded cage.

The Doctor knows better.

He knows what it is to be made helpless - to save yourself, to save the ones you love. He knows how many people were sacrificed and how horribly they died. He knows that his own granddaughter was among them, shot and mutilated. He knows that the Master still hasn't recovered from it.

There, of course, is the rub. For a while, he was able to hold the Master's strings tight in his hands; that power faded with his fleeting innocence. What can he say, really, to dissuade him? That it's foolish? That it's immoral? That it won't solve anything?

It's the Master, and the man's rage beats in his head, madness buzzing like flies in the back of his mind, gnawing relentlessly at ancient convictions.

He is caught. Caught between justice and murder, retribution and vengeance, rage and rationality. What is right and what is easy, and he's not sure which is which anymore.

When he defends Walter he tastes bile; when he doesn't, he tastes blood.

Chained by morality, shackled by devotion, blinded by the screams in his head.

It is a prison within a prison within a prison, and there is no key to steal, no guard to sway, no escape to find.

He died in despair, and now he lives in it.


Community: Mind the Muse
Word Count: 248
Verse: Paradisa

He sits in the TARDIS library, fingers tracing a certain set of words over and over, as if his touch could make them real again.

Any change, any loss, does not make us victims. Others can shake you, surprise you, disappoint you, but they can't prevent you from acting, from taking the situation you're presented with and moving on. No matter where you are in life, no matter what your situation, you can always do something. You always have a choice and the choice can be power.

Donne, of course, had never died and been reborn in a world where free will didn't apply. The Doctor's life, as it was, had ended on Androzani.

At first, all he'd wanted was to get on with the rightful course of things. It wasn't fair – it was finally time to rest, and he couldn't.

Eventually…eventually he remembered why life was so precious in the first place. Why he'd always fought so hard for it.

"But what am I to do with it now," he murmured, hand stilling as he closed his eyes.

At first, being with Koschei was enough. Despite everything, regaining what they'd lost had made him happy – more than that, content. It didn't matter that they were the Master and the Doctor.

Therein, of course, lay the problem.

He sighs, gently flipping the book shut. For the first time in his life, there is no escape, no brilliant plan, no hidden answer. He is confined to a life of little significance, and there's nothing he can do about it.

He rises, then; it's time to find Koschei and forget, for a while.


Community: Mind The Muse
Verse: Paradisa
Word Count: 271

Dating Strengths	Dating Weaknesses
1. Intelligence - 71.4% 2. Varied Interests - 71.4% 3. Financial Situation - 69.2% 4. Adventurousness - 66.7% 5. Optimism - 57.1%	No significant weaknesses

Dating Strengths Explained
Intelligence - Your sharp intellect is a valuable asset. Use your intelligence wisely; avoid condescension. Quiet, confident intelligence is very attractive. Varied Interests - You don't limit yourself, and that's a dating asset. Your varied interests make you available and interesting to a wider range of men. Financial Situation - You've got your financial situation under control, which is a very desirable quality. Be careful to avoid men who are only interested in your money. Adventurousness - You are willing to try new things and be spontaneous. You want to get out there and really live, and you will attract people with a similar love of life. Optimism - People are drawn to your positive outlook. Your optimism attracts others to you.
Dating Weaknesses Explained
Dating Strengths and Weaknesses Quiz by Dating Diversions

It seems the Master and I have been nominated for an award – Best Gay Couple, something along those lines – and we decided we may as well show people what they would be voting for.

My mun seems to think it should be more along the lines of 'Most Dysfunctional'.

Quite honestly, she's right, but I don't mind overmuch.

( Best Enemies )

1. Your Name:
2. Are we friends?
3. Do you have a crush/attracted to me?
4. Would you kiss me?
5. ...with tongue?
6. Would you enjoy it?
7. Would you ever ask me out or go out with me if I ask you out?
8. Would you make a move on me in a movie theater?
9. Tell me one odd/interesting fact about you:
10. Would you take care of me when I'm sick?
11. Do you want to tell me something that you couldn't before?
12. If you heard a rumor about me, would you defend me?
13. Do you think I'm a good person?
14. Would you let me sleep with you (in the same bed)?
15. Do you think I'm hot?
16. Would you call me just because?
17. Would you ever listen to my problems even if they don't involve you?
18. If you could change anything about me, would you?
19. Would you have sex with me?
20. Would you come over for no reason just to hang out?
21. What do you like most about me (looks and/or personality)?
22. Will you post this so I can fill it out for you?

23. (Individual question of your choice)
What is - or was - your favourite place in the universe?

The Doctor took the free ColorQuiz.com personality test! "Unwilling to participate and wishes to avoid all f..." Click here to read the rest of the results.

...Hmph.

He would like to say he began to lose himself when he arrived in Paradisa. It was common enough, he was sure; people were torn from their lives, their paths, their roles. A saviour became simply another resident, and a murderer lived across the hall.

It would be perfectly understandable, even expected.

Yet he would be lying.

He would like to say he began to lose himself on Androzani Minor. Who could blame him, really; he was trapped in a nightmare that wouldn't end, made helpless and weak, struggling simply to survive for her, helping only a girl he couldn't remember.

It would be perfectly understandable, even expected.

Yet he would be lying.

He thinks she would have known. Peri. He knows she must have gone through it all with him, must have seen everything chipping away at who he ought to be, slowly but surely. Did Turlough realise? Did Tegan, was that why she left, really?

Who is he to aid the universe if he lets blood stain his hands, grief twist his hearts, despair chase his thoughts? He can't even save his friends, what good is he to anyone else now?

He remembers, as he was dying, seeing them – Tegan, Nyssa, Turlough, Adric. Nyssa told him that the universe needed him still, Adric agreed, and at the time he believed them.

Now…he supposes it does need someone like him, but not as he is now.

This regeneration almost failed. Sometimes he feels like it never stopped.

"Doctor. Everyone's looking for him."